


Fading Colors

by FantasiaV



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 11:10:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5125307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasiaV/pseuds/FantasiaV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roderich takes care of Gilbert after he returns from the other side of the Berlin Wall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [punkgrump](https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkgrump/gifts).



> This is going to be a two-part fic. The first part is Roderich's point of view and the second (which is much, much shorter) is Gilbert's.  
> ALSO, in case you haven't noticed this is a gift fic for one cool noodle. If anybody else wants to request me to write a song, just drop a comment. Also comment if you want to review because reviews make me so happy<3

Gilbert needs to have his bandages changed. When I find him in the basement, I find the thick, dark red blood seeping through the blankets he has pulled close around him. The contrast of crimson blood against dark green blankets gives him the appearance of an oversaturated sunrise. Wordlessly, I begin to undo his bandages. Blood spills from his still unhealed cuts like an overflowing sink.  
He winces slightly as I dab at the cuts with a cotton ball soaked in rubbing alcohol. He hates when I do this, but he doesn’t have a choice. He needs to get better soon. He grits his teeth when I begin to wrap new bandages around him. I like to tie them tight, not tight enough to cut off any circulation but tight enough to stop the bandages from coming undone.  
The cuts on his forearm are the worst. When Gilbert first made it out from behind the wall, these cuts were deep enough to reveal pale bone between massacred flesh. These cuts are the worst, but he’s ripped at every edge. His back is littered with welts, burns, and cuts. Most of them will leave marks. Gilbert looks absolutely atrocious, but in surviving what he has, he is a masterpiece.  
Once I clean up the blood, everything is blue. His pills. His hands. His jeans.  
Once upon a time he would have laughed at this, joked that it was all part of his Prussian colors bleeding through. He was an empire. He was inescapable. He was a deep shade of blue, as vast and never ending as the skies. On the nights we lied together, he would cover me in these colors, but now he’s pulled apart at the seams. His reign has ended.  
The once steady arms are now shaking as muscles spasm uncontrollably.  
The very act of sitting up on the couch is causing Gilbert to overexert himself. There’s not much I can do but hand him a glass of water and watch him swallow the pills. His bruised hands pop them into his mouth. One. Two. Three. The first is to prevent infection from starting in his open wounds. The second is to numb the pain. And the third is to give him sleep.  
The look he gives me is pitiful. He is tired and worn. His once bright features have dulled into a grey. It stems from his hair, his cigarette smoke, and his dreams. The Prussian blues have dissipated. The proud colors have grown faint. He’s so devoid of color, he doesn’t even know what he means anymore.   
But I want him to know that he’s still blue. At least to me. He’s a bright, vibrant blue that conquers all obstacles. He is strong, fearless, and capable of anything.  
I tell him that and he laughs. It’s a bitter, melancholic sound.  
“Roderich, you don’t have to lie to cheer me up. I know what I am and what I am is nothing.”  
His shaking hands reach for his jean pockets, fumbling with a packet of cigarettes that I promptly pull away. He knows that the doctor’s orders are on my side and so he says nothing. He does, however, shoot me a dark, brooding look.  
It is my third day of “babysitting” Gilbert. It is the seventh day since The Wall has come down. Gilbert, evidently, has refused to talk to everyone but me. Even with his brother, his sole medium of communication comes from tired, minimally changed facial expressions. He doesn’t want to talk. We all know that he is capable of doing so, he just chooses not to. Why, I will never understand. For now, I’m left with the explanation that he’s Gilbert -- completely impossible to comprehend.  
Silently, I place my arm around his shoulder and kiss his temple. He appreciates the quiet things. I don’t know how I know -- he, of course, never tells me this -- but I simply do. There’s something in his eyes. Every so often, the corner of his lips will rise.


	2. Vision in the Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Told you I'd do Gilbert's perspective next. Sorry the time layout a little weird. I wanted to cover the song, but I wanted this part to relate to Gilbert so there's a bit of a time back skip.

The first time I remember being conscious on the other side of The Wall, I was with Roderich. It was early in the morning, a little before the birds began chirping but late enough for the sun’s rays to come out from behind the curtains. I was lying on one of Ludwig’s spare beds, propped up with more pillows than I could care to count. Roderich, was sitting beside me. He had fallen asleep in his chair and was snoring softly.  
He was a vision in the morning as the light came through and illuminated his features.  
Does he know that thinking of him was what got me through all the torture and trauma? Does he know that with every wave of pain, I would grip that old, tattered photograph of him I managed to smuggle in the waistband of my pants. Just holding that photograph and remembering him would numb some of the pain. I knew that I’d have someone to return to if I survived the ordeal.  
I watched Roderich stir slightly in his seat. I wanted to tell him that I only know religion when I lie with him. He should know that he makes life worth living, for me at least.   
Even when the Russians told me that they would never forgive me. That my “friends” would ignore me and spit on me after my return, I knew Roderich would still hold me close. I never doubted that. I couldn’t doubt that -- it would tear me apart. I knew that I did some horrible things. I knew that I would be dissolved and that I might never get the chance to atone for my sins. But when I wake up every morning, it won’t be with the people who despise. I will be with Roderich. Sweet, loving, forgiving Roderich.


End file.
